Yesterday, I got my wisdom teeth removed. Yes indeedy. That sure was an experience.
To begin this foray into my oral surgery, I must set the scene. My dentist/oral surgeon is truly a skilled and lovely man, thoroughly efficient while maintaining care and kindness. He is also a Korean immigrant who has a love of karaoke and singing along with the radio station broadcast into the building, bringing you the greatest hits of the 70's, 80's, and 90's. Throughout my visits I have witnessed him singing "Dream Weaver" and having extremely frank conversations with the dental hygienists concerning man-thongs. Quite simply, there is never a boring visit.
Now, for my extraction the usual anesthetic (administered by my dentist who always asks "Are you hurting?" with each injection) was aided by that most glorious of gases, nitrous oxide. Oh sweet Lord. As the dear doctor cracked jokes about nitrous parties and slit open my gums, I was encased in a world full of unicorns and fluffy white clouds. Everything, and I mean everything, echoed. I was traipsing the battlefield of love, waking up before you go-go, rock and rolling all night, and partying every day, totally fine with the fact that, undoubtedly, my mouth was stained with blood and my one bone-set tooth was being popped out of its happy little home. For clarification, the other tooth that was removed was in soft tissue, and therefore did not produce such interesting noises, such fascinating sensation.
Had I not been on the nitrous, I would have kept my eyes open, thinking that being aware of everything instrument and every move would be somehow beneficial, that I would be in control of the situation. But, I was on the nitrous, in an eye-shut dreamland. The world could have gone into a complete Jurassic Park raptor attack, and I would have been cool with it. I might have even tried to talk to one...
Me: Oh heeeeey, man! Have you seen my narwhal saddle? I need to go take a moon-trip!
Me: Y'know what? I haven't looked in the fireplace. Thanks, buddy!
And then I would either get eaten, or become the Raptor Queen. I'm betting on the latter.
All was fine and dandy until I got home. Gauze had been placed on my freshly-stitched gums and it was quickly soaking up with blood. The nitrous oxide had worn off, but my lower jaw, tongue, gums, and lower lip were still number than a paraplegic's calves. Around noon, I felt the need to change the gauze, which led to one of the most disgusting experiences of my life, one which made me yearn for the delightful gas. My saliva was sticky with blood, and I couldn't help drooling the goopy substance as I painfully attempted to navigate new gauze into my mouth. A pamphlet I was given told me I should stop bleeding after about two hours. In reality, I filled gauze pads for about five hours, each being more painful than the next as the gargantuan amount of local anesthetic I was given wore off. I cried, I drooled, and I was hungry.
Although the removal occurred only yesterday, I am beyond tired of yogurt, pudding, little slices of hard-boiled egg, and applesauce. The TV commercials for normally unappealing greasy burgers are now tempting and alluring. Even my cat, munching on her kitty kibble, inspires jealousy. Sure, I have an excuse to nom nom nom all the ice cream I want, but what I really desire is a turkey sandwich. My molars yearn to chew, but my surgical wounds inhibit them.
On the bright side, this gives me lots of knitting time, and my dear boyfriend will be visiting me in my fragility. And, I had something interesting to write up into a post. Oral surgery, you have yet to best me. Ha HA!